


First Time

by Exit75



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Accidental Death, Backstory, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Loss of Parent(s), Original Character(s), Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exit75/pseuds/Exit75
Summary: Young Vic Vega accidentally kills another boy, and realises that he likes it. Plus a bit of how-Vic-met-Eddie and other details.





	First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted some backstory for my favourite sadistic psycho, and you know what they say: if you want something done you gotta do it yourself. Enjoy!

It was an accident. They were on the outskirts of town, by the river and the industrial lot, which was now abandoned and overgrown with weeds. Vic was no older than twelve; a motherless, scrape-kneed, skinny boy who never paid attention in school. He was running around with the neighbour’s kid, Tommy. They’d skipped school together.  
The boys started to throw rocks at each other, and neither could aim for shit, but running down a narrow dirt path between bushes, it happened. The stone hit Tommy’s temple and he went down, where his head met with another, larger rock. A slug-trail of blood crept out of his eye, and another from his ear, pooling under his head.  
Vic walked up to the body, which lay motionless, the eyes staring straight ahead, the mouth half open. At first he thought the boy was stunned only - he looked stunned, not dead. But when Vic knelt down to shake him, he realised he was shaking a corpse. He rolled Tommy over and pressed his head to the boy’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. There was none. Vic’s breath quickened and his eyes darted around, searching the empty landscape, but they were alone.  
He couldn’t make a sound, his mouth had gone dry. He crouched down next to the body again and stared at it, for several minutes all he could do was stare. And then, as if in a trance, he dipped a finger into the darkening pool of blood, tasted it, spat. He looked up again and scanned the scenery, but no one had reason to be here, not at this time. It had just gone noon and the sun beat down on the back of Vic’s neck like a stage light.  
He sat there for some time, just touching the lifeless face, sticking dirty fingers into a limp mouth, thinking suddenly that he wanted to take something, pull out a tooth, maybe.  
And then he remembered the pocket knife. A tiny thing, no bigger than his outstretched finger. He dug through his jeans pockets, found it, and folded out the little rusted blade. He brought the knife close to the boy’s face and hesitated, letting the blade hover a few millimetres above the skin. He knew he wanted something, but didn’t know what. Where should he make the first incision? He pressed the blade to the boy’s forehead, above the eyebrow, and the skin was cold beneath his fingers. No, not there. He lifted his hand again, and pressed the blade to the boy’s cheek, but hesitated again and pulled his hands away, breathing hard. A bead of sweat began to roll down his temple and he wiped it away. An ant crawled across the boy’s forehead. Vic wrapped his hand around the base of the knife, inhaled sharply, and pushed the blade into the pupil of the right eye. The knife slid into the jelly and a clear liquid welled up around the blade. Vic grimaced, the blood rushed to his cheeks and his heart began to race. I want to cut something off now, he thought. Toe, finger, ear -  
But he didn’t have time to decide, as his reverie was broken by a man’s voice only a few yards away. Vic turned around, blood pounding in his head, stumbled to his feet and bolted, running until his lungs felt on the verge of collapse.

He reached his house, panting, and saw his father sitting in the usual place on the porch, the ashtray by his side a tiny mountain of cigarette butts and ash. Walking up to the fence, Vic realised he was home too early, school wouldn’t finish for at least another hour, maybe two. But his father had seen him now, so he made his way up the walkway, quiet, looking down at his feet, and his father said nothing as Vic walked through the front door. He didn’t even turn his head to look, just exhaled slow and heavy as a dragon, staring at the burnt grass of the bare yard, or at the cloudless sky, or perhaps at nothing at all.

It was Andy Richmond that had yelled out to Vic. Andy, who worked at his father’s junkyard not far from the abandoned lot. He’d been taking a walk on his lunch break when he came upon the scene. He saw the scrawny, dark haired figure crouched over the corpse and recognised in an instant that it was the Vega kid he’d once caught sneaking into the junkyard.

Vic was the youngest kid in his state to get a manslaughter charge, and the punctured eye got him put into a residential facility and two extra years worth of therapy on top of that. He played along, of course, but locked away like a treasure, he kept the memory of hot sun and cold flesh, the coppery taste of blood, and above all, the spurt of aqueous humour under the blade of his little pocket knife.  
Their small town didn’t take the incident lightly, and Vic’s father retreated further into himself, doubling his drinking and rarely leaving the house. One night, sitting up past midnight in his favourite rocking chair, shrouded in a cloud of smoke, he went into cardiac arrest, but no one heard him cry out, and Vic would only discover his body the following morning, when he noticed his dad wasn’t in the kitchen making his morning pot of coffee.  
Vic was almost seventeen, then, and living alone with his father, his older brother Vincent having moved out to LA several years back. Vincent came down for the funeral, and shortly afterwards they arranged to sell the house.  
The plan was that Vic would live with his brother and finish high school in LA. However, this plan was derailed significantly, because it was in his new high school, sitting in detention, that Vic would meet a chubby, red-haired delinquent named Eddie Cabot, who over the next year would become his closest friend. It was under the influence of Eddie’s father that Vic dropped out in his senior year, having been introduced to a new array of job opportunities, none of which required a high school diploma.


End file.
